Immortalitys Bane
by TediousExploit
Summary: A Horcrux can only be destroyed by 'The Darkest of Magics' and Basilisk venom. If Harry is a Horcrux, why wouldn't this hold true for him as well?
1. The Invisible Legend

Disclaimer: Owning things is for people with money, like that J.K. Rowling lady, I hear she's pretty rich. She owns Harry Potter, which I do not in fact own. For a further list of things I do not own consult my craigslist ads.

(-)

Harry had just finished the gauntlet of traps and obstacles meant to delay intruders. It was not without cost however as both Hermione and Ron had made sacrifices to get him this far. Small or large, they had paid a price to get him this far. One he wasn't willing to waste simply because he was scared of what lied ahead.

If he had to die so such a dangerous artifact stayed with its owners, so be it. He knew his life held little value beyond what he could do for others. It was a lesson he'd learned at a young age. The sky was blue, grass was green, and he only mattered as much as he could be useful. The only time anyone would give him the time of day was when they needed something from him. 'Boy do mow lawn' 'Freak go do the laundry' 'Freak get over here and let me sock you'

This would make him matter. Everyone would understand just how useful he was, no longer would he be relegated to hours alone. People would care, they'd ask how he was doing, if he was alright. Even if he died here, they'd mourn his loss. The loss of someone so useful, would definitely sadden people. Sure he'd miss Hermione and Ron, but they understand. They helped him get here after all.

He was glad it was him in the end, who had to face death. Who better to survive it. He had a secret so freakish, he was sure even wizards would be horrified. For as long as he remember nothing had been able to hurt him. Belt loops didn't even dent his skin when they struck. Dudley's fist could not bruise him. Kitchen knives couldn't pierce his skin. Even his hair was the same to a lesser effect. When cut it simply regrew to its previous length, ever unchanging. If any could survive what lay ahead it was him.

Stepping into a room with a dias and a mirror, Harry was shocked to see a head covered in a turban rather than an expectant mop of greasy hair. Torches flickered upon his arrival. The rooms only occupant twitched and turned around, massive grin stretched across his tan face.

"Quirrel? I.. I'd thought Snape... but... why?" Harry wasn't that confused he just felt the need to play it up, buy some time to look for accomplices and ways to apprehend a man twice his size.

It wasn't hard to guess what drew a man to covet unlimited wealth and eternal life. He too had thoughts of taking the stone for himself. He just didn't know how to use it and would surely get caught by some magic he didn't know existed. If they could find him on a small rock in the middle of the channel, they could find him anywhere.

Quirrel's grin twitched even wider as his arm rose wand poised to strike. Just as he was going to open his mouth to speak a sibilant hiss broke through the air. "We don't... have time... for thisss... Kill the boy!"

Not taking a moment to think over his new orders Quirrel's wand shot forward and he shouted "Avada Kedavra"

Harry wasn't certain what that spell was, but it sounded awfully familiar. He couldn't take the chance that the spell would disable and prevent him from stopping Quirrel, so he dived to the left. Right in the way of a red spell. Luckily it was absorbed into his skin like sunlight.

Harry was surprised wizards could cast spells without talking. He really shouldn't have been, he'd seen some of his teachers do it. It just didn't really register at the time, and even if it had. This was stuttering Quirrel, a man afraid of his own shadow. It was counter intuitive to expect competence from him.

Harry stood as quickly as he could from the dive he took earlier, just as another Avada Kedavra was heading for him. Using agility honed from years of experience dodging fists and Iron balls alike. He tried to tilt his head far enough that he would dodge it. Only he couldn't move quick enough. The green curse slammed into his forehead, then bounced off. The wall where it landed exploded in a shower of stone.

In all his years of people trying to harm him, Harry had never felt this sensation. Pain was entirely new to him. It reminded him a lot of shame and loneliness. Only entirely different and new. The small bump on his forehead hurt, but not overwhelmingly so.

This was the first time anyone had ever managed to hurt him. Quirrel was dangerous. He needed to end this fast. it was do or die, fight or fall.

He ran at Quirrel, who only stood their jaw hanging loose. If he failed, Harry was content to know he'd managed to wipe that smile off Quirrel. Harry considered himself a very fast 11 year old. Years of being chased by Dudley and his school friends, made sure of it. Harry hunting may not hurt but no one likes to be pinned down.

Sadly despite his speed he didn't make it across the entirety of the room before Quirrel started firing the painful green spells again. They came en mass, a field of green. There was no way to dodge the quickly approaching spells, so Harry didn't. Teeth clenched, eyes shut, he pushed through the pain.

Quirrel was panting now, very loudly. Almost as much as his uncle Vernon, when the man climbed upstairs. Harry had never seen an adult wizard get exhausted from casting spells. He had assumed they could cast forever.

Only Quirrel was slowing and sweating now. The torrent of green curses slowed to a trickle. The room was filled with rubble from misfired curses.

This was his chance. Harry no longer slowed by the constant green spells rushed forward and tackled Quirrel's bent over form. He warped his small hands around Quirrel's throat, attempting to choke the life out of him the same way his uncle used to try. It wasn't working very well his hands were too small to get a very good grip. he'd have to find some other way of detaining Quirrel.

Quirrel grit his teeth as he raised his wand. He jabbed it in Harrys eye, screaming "Die!". Before he cast one final green curse, directly into Harry's eye. The curse bounced right back at Quirrel's prone form, striking him in the face. Quirrel instantly went still in Harry's hands.

Harry was confused, at the sudden change. He'd only been attempting to apprehend Quirrel, Tie him up at best, knock him out at worst. This... This was unexpected. Harry knew why that curse was so familiar now. It was the one he was famous for surviving. Quirrel was dead.

He stood up taking in the partially collapsed room. The once solid steps up the dias was now a gravel path. The pillars through out the room were crumbling heaps of their former marble glory. The mirror that had once stood grandly on the dias had shattered and collapsed.

Quirrel's body started smoking. At first a small mist of smoke rising, before it began to billow thick black plumes of smoke. Harry wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Could Quirrel have some sort of back up plan in case he got caught? One that would transfigure him into smoke and bring him somewhere safe. Harry didn't know enough to tell.

"What the hell..."

In his uncertainty, he found certainty that caution was the best approach to the unknown. Harry took several steps back. The smoke formed into a man, one who's form was ever changing. The man looked toward harry and snarled. Then he charged him, flying through the air faster than Harry had seen anything move.

It slammed into him with the force of moderately windy day. Harry began to chuckle in relief, at the stupidity of worrying about smoke hurting him.

As soon as his mouth opened, the smoke went down his throat, into his ears, up his noise. It was invading him, and not just on a physical level. Harry could feel it, in his mind. The smoke was trying to wrest control from him.

Harry scared, but more than that he was angry. He didn't know what he could do, what he should do, so he did what he did whenever something threatened him whether it be troll, unicorn eating vampire, or Quirrel himself. He fought back with only his instinct driving him. He didn't know how to stop the smoke, so he resorted to mentally screaming at it, flailing his body against the floor, banging his head against the stone. Anything to get the smoke out of him. He threw everything he had at the incorporeal creature. Even as he darkness started taking hold of his vision, he fought on.

~(-)~

Dumbledore waited patiently for his student to awaken from his slumber. He'd arrived as soon as Madame Pomfrey had taken him off the sleeping draught. Normally, he would've let students recover from magical exhaustion on their own, but Harry was of such grand importance not just to him, but the very fate of Britain itself.

He made sure Madame Pomfrey was aware that no chances should be taken with Harry's recovery. The boy was known for taking extreme risks, often disregarding Madame Pomfreys advice outright. It was no surprise the she recommended an induced coma recovery.

Eyes began to stir beneath eye-lids before they shot open frantic and fearful. Dumbledore allowed him to take in his surroundings, eyeing the large pile of sweets and get well cards. There was even a toilet seat wrapped with a bow. Dumbledore wasn't sure he understood the joke there, each passing generation got harder and harder to understand. He wasn't certain if it was the children changing or himself.

"Good morning, Harry. May I offer you a bertie botts bean? I myself can't stand them, ever since I had the vomit flavored one. However, I'm certain you'll have more luck." Dumbledore didn't want to chastise a student who had just recovered, but a subtle jab at how he was lucky to survive might make him reconsider such plans of action in the future.

"Uhm, no thank you sir. Is Ron alright? and What happened with the stone?" Harry asked nervously. He was such a selfless soul to concern himself with the fate of others even after he himself had just recovered.

Dumbledore held up a hand. "Mr. Weasley is in good health, in fact I believe you'll find a card with his name on it. As for the stone, it was destroyed. Its owners have accepted that the world might be better off without its presence. They of course, have enough elixir of life to get their affairs in order." Not entirely false. The decoy stone was destroyed, and the Flamels have more than enough Elixir. It was unfortunate that he had to lie so blatantly, but the walls have ears after all. It would be better if no one knew the stone still existed.

"I... see, and sir? What happened to me? What was that thing?" Harry asked his voice tinged with panic.

Dumbledore understood immediately what Harry was referencing, by thing. The wards gave him an idea of what had happened during his midnight broom ride. However instead of explaining what he could conclude through his readings, he decided to let Harry talk through it. Talking often helped people work through trauma, and even if that didn't work he had always ascribed to the Aristotle school of teaching.

"I think you more than anyone, are most capable of answering those questions. What do you believe happened?" Dumbledore spoke soothingly, hoping to calm the boy.

"Well Quirrel was after the stone, there was another voice... I think he wasn't working alone. I think someone was talking to him remotely. They didn't want any delays, so Quirrel tried to... kill me. None of his spells could hurt me though!" Harry got more passionate by the end of his tirade.

Well, this was certainly news to Dumbledore. He'd known that a wraith escaped that room where none had entered, he knew the room was filled with dark magic, he knew Quirrels wand had fired a multitude of killing curses before his demise, he knew the wraith attempted to possess Harry and failed. He had not known Harry was immune to Quirrels magic. He'd had a working theory as to what happened, this however... This changed things.

He had set the trap, hoping to lure who ever was after the stone. They were more persistent than anyone had been in centuries. He wished it didn't have to be at the school, but the Flamels insisted it be here, as no one would believe he would hide the real stone anywhere less secure. He could not deny them, he owed them a life debt after all. A bond made in blood.

This new fact pointed to one thing. There was only one person who's magic had a history of failing against Harry. What ever magic Lily Potter invoked a decade ago still held strong to this day. The wraith must not have been Quirrel's as he originally suspected, but instead Voldemort escaping his host.

Dumbldore looked into the curious eyes of thee eleven year old before him. Patiently waiting to be told what occurred in the third floor chamber. Dumbldore couldn't bare to tell the poor child that his family's killer was alive and well, perhaps even plotting his demise as they spoke. He could give him part of the truth, the boy deserved to know the sacrifice his parents made, but he couldn't outright give an eleven year old his death sentence. He'd sent enough children to their deaths for one lifetime...

"Not too dissimilar from another instance of a spell failing to harm you, wouldn't you say?" Dumbledore led him to the obvious conclusion.

"I'm immune to killing curses!?" Harry cried out. Not quite the conclusion Dumbledore was hoping for.

"Perhaps... I would not wish to test such a thing. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is providence. I would still ask you not to go jumping in front of deadly curses, or one day you might find they have the intended result." Whatever magic Lily performed was likely fading, if not faded by now. Human sacrifice is powerful, but not without its limits.

Harry nodded, even as he rolled his eyes at such obvious advice. "But why? Why doesn't the killing curse effect me? Why me and no one else?"

"No one can say for certain what happened to you, all those years ago when Voldemort came for you. As there were only four people there that night, and only you lived to talk about it. I do however have a theory. Would you like to hear it?" Dumbledore asked, it wasn't often he had captive audience to talk about magic with. He really did miss being a teacher.

Harry nodded, hoping to finally get a straight answer. "Yes, lets hear it."

"There is magic inherent in every symbolic act. Acts of heroism, of kindness, of love, they all have a magic to them. When your mother gave her life for you, I believe she invoked such a magic. A magic more powerful than any spell, more potent than the greatest potion. She invoked magic unconstrained by intention or will. Her loving sacrifice is what allowed you to survive that night, and it is my belief her love still persists to this day." A much better story than one about a mother who accidentally, ritualistically sacrificed her life to protect her sons. Still, It's sort of true in odd sort of light. Dumbledore had yet to find evidence that the ritual was invoked intentionally, even though it would be much easier to believe than Lily stumbling into just the precise method to sacrifice her life in exchange for magical protection. Although such coincidences tend to occur when prophesy is involved. The universe tends to bend over backwards to achieve them, afterall.

Harrys eyes gleamed with unshed tears, it was just what any orphan wanted to hear. He didn't cry, not out of a childish desire to put on airs. No, he staid his tears because he still had unanswered questions. "If it was my moms love that saved me... Why was this so special. Surely other children's mothers love them?"

Dumbledore had done many rituals in his time, and knew the answer was one that plagued every practitioner. "As you'll discover when learning magic. Feelings are important to every spell, even accidental ones. A man who casts the levitation spell in a foul mood might find the object he desired to levitate, crushed as it rises. An angry man might find his disarming spell banish his opponent away. Magic is a fickle thing, and your mother must've been in just the right mindset of love, protection, and most importantly self sacrifice. A scenario I doubt I'll ever see recreated in my life time, or at least I hope such a situation never occurs again." He nodded sagely. That was probably more than enough on that grim subject. As much as he enjoyed teaching, he would have to be the most irresponsible teacher in the world to start giving ritual advice to an eleven year old.

"Now before I leave you to your rest, do you have anything to tell me? Anything at all?" He felt a little guilty for leaving the boy after dropping this bombshell, but he needed to dissect his new theory on what occurred in the 3rd floor corridor.

"Uhm... well sir... It's about the Durselys..." Harry paused for a moment.

A moment too long. "Yes?" Dumbledore asked.

"I was hoping that I wouldn't have to go back? I could stay here? Or anywhere really..." Harry was looking away, his cheeks red.

If Dumbledore had a sickle for every time a student asked to stay at Hogwarts year round, he'd be Malfoy rich. Just the Ravenclaws alone would buy him a beach house. It was a magical castle, he could understand the desire. That was why he taught here after all. Sadly it isn't healthy for a boy to spend all his time away from his family.

He'd had his doubts about the Durselys at first, but they'd done a fine job. Harry came to school without a scratch on him. Why, he'd never talked to a more polite boy.

Mrs. Figg said they make him do a lot of chores. Clearly they'd read his memoires. Dumbledore himself had to work 6 hours a day on the farm he grew up on. Discipline is good for the mind after all.

They had welcomed him as one of their own so well, in fact, that they wanted to keep him from Hogwarts. They wanted him to live as a muggle. It was almost heartwarming to hear how well Harry had integrated into their life style.

Dumbledore felt guilty, but he needed to hold to his standard. No students over break, or the castle would be filled year long.

"I'm sorry Harry, but you need to spend some time with your family. School is important, but family is more so. You don't know how much you'll miss it... when it's gone." Dumbledore was saddened by the thought of the family he used to have. The family he could have still had... An image of Ariana knitting a pair of wool socks flashed through his aged mind. His cheeks felt wet. He couldn't let anyone see him like this, so he quickly strode away.

~(-)~

Harry exited platform 9 3/4 in silence. His friends had all happily waved goodbye when they left, promising to write. He wasn't even sure if his aunt and uncle were here. The platform was fairly crowded, but that was par for course in London.

Harry hadn't told his friend what had happened in the final room of the third floor corridor. It would open himself up to questions, questions he didn't want to answer, Like how was he alive. It felt too personal, to tell them about his mother sacrifice.

Harry was disappointed Dumbledore wouldn't let him leave the Dursleys. The mans reasons didn't even make sense, surely he'd seen his letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs. Didn't Hagrid tell him how they were? He'd met them... Why would he want to spend time with people like that?

He might even be angry with Dumbledore, had he not got him out of the bind in his house. They had been fairly upset with him for missing the last Quidditch match. The outcome of which, made them lose the Quiditch Cup. Harry being the star seeker they'd spent all year training, made it seem like he let them down.

However, all the points Dumbledore had awarded for their misadventure in the 3rd floor corridor, had more than made up for it in the eyes of his housemates. It allowed them to win the house cup. Though not the quidditch cup, was almost as good.

He saw his uncle approaching with his aunt. They looked angry just being here, eyeing everyone in the crowd as if they were a potential freak. Harry shook his head sadly, didn't they know freaks just teleported away?

"C'mon boy! I wont stand here all day, just because you're slow and useless." His uncle shouted at him with a smack to the head.

Because his uncle knew no matter what he did, he couldn't hurt Harry, hitting had become habit. Even though the blows didn't do anything permanent, the weight and force behind them was annoying to Harry. They would knock him off course or to the ground, usually to the general amusement of the whole Dursley household. At least his uncle was gentle in public. He didn't even fall over.

Harry shoved his school trunk into what he saw was a new car, and sat carefully in the backseat. making sure not to close the door too loudly lest he set his uncle off, or worse his aunt. His uncle would only try and hurt him. His aunt had a tongue so sharp she made people sob by accident.

His aunt had been eyeing him the entire time.

"So, how did you pay for all your freakish school things? That trunk looked nice. Mahogany, must've cost a pretty penny." His aunt asked 'sweetly' while maintaining eye contact in the rear view mirror. She had seen his trunk back in august, so it had taken her 10 months to realize it cost money?

It was so obvious where this was going that it hurt. Still, even with her obvious intentions, Harry couldn't resist the chance to refute everything his aunt and uncle had ever said about his parents. They weren't worthless layabouts! They were well off, and they were great people, who had died for him. Harry didn't see any harm in informing them. It wasn't like they could get to his money, even if they were willing to wade into the den of freaks.

"I've been told my parents were modestly wealthy..." Harry hoped that was enough of answer without seeming to flaunt or lie. They always knew when he lied somehow.

"That is just like my sister, to keep all that money to herself, when I'm forced to cover the cost of your burden. Shouldn't the freaks know how expensive it is to raise children!? Always forced to feed them and clothe them. Well, we'll get this sorted out swiftly. When will we be getting our first payment?" She raised her eyebrow in the mirror, letting Harry know there was only one right way to answer this question.

"Payment?" Harry asked incredulously. He didn't think his relatives were owed anything, if anything they owed him for being forced to put up with them.

That was obviously not the answer she wanted. "Yes payment, try and keep up. When will it be arriving. I believe we're owed for 10 years worth of service. Keeping your lazy bum fed has kept us behind quite a bit, Not to mention cleaning up after your freakish episodes." Petunia spoke harshly.

"I guess you'd have to sort that out with the wizarding government?" Harry responded, hoping that would end this conversation.

"Hmph, I have a better idea. You say your worthless parents left you something? Well we're in London right now. I'll drop you off. You go empty out whatever they left you, from whatever you freaks use as banks. Then you hand it over. Children shouldn't be handling their own finances anyway. Better left in the hands of adults who know what they're doing. Who better suited than us? I manage the accounts at Grunnings after all." Vernon raised his voice in the front seat.

Harry froze at the very Idea of losing all that was left of his parents to his aunt and uncles greed. Harry doubted he could convince them to let this go, and who knows how they'd react to outright defiance. He needed a plan, anything to get out of this mess.

"Oh, thats a wonderful Idea, dear! You're so smart." Petunia swooned in a high pitched voice.

"I didn't get to marry the most beautiful woman in England because of my looks." Vernon smirked.

They began to eskimo kiss in a way that made Harry contemplate the merits of blindness. Harry forced himself to look away from the whale nuzzling a giraffe and instead looked at a far more appealing sight, one of the more shady areas of London. Homeless flocked the garbage covered streets. No one made eye contact. everyone kept their hands securely in their pockets, where if you looked close enough you could make the outline of weapons. Luckily the leaky cauldron, though not a nice looking building, was in the nicer part of London. So he wouldn't have to go near this.

He wouldn't let them get their grubby hands on his inheritance. Even if they had been the greatest caretakers, people he had loved and adored, he would never give up his vault. It was one of the few things he had to remember his parents by. A book of pictures, an invisibility cloak, and whatever he inherited in his vault.

It was just a matter of figuring out how to get them to back off. He could bring back a few galleons, and pretend that was it. No wait, he already said they were well off. Maybe pretend like thats a lot of money, they already thought he was stupid. It wouldn't be that much of a stretch for him to have misconceptions of the value of money.

The trick would be lying without talking. He didn't know how they did it, he must have a tell or something, but they always knew when he lied. He might even say it was magical, if he wanted to be locked in his new room all summer.

Vernon pulled the car to a stop, and turned around to stare down his nephew. "Alright freak, go grab our things and get back here. If I have to wait longer than 10 minutes its back in the cupboard with you." Apparently he'd lost whatever paranoia he'd had over that, when there were no repercussions even after Hagrid had come and gone.

"I need my key to get my money... it's in my trunk." Harry spoke meekly, hoping that someway out of this would present itself. Maybe some form of divine intervention would strike his relatives down.

Harry's aunt looked at him for a few minutes, likely trying to figure out if he was up to anything, before she shrugged. "Alright open the boot, dear." Vernon grunted in reply. Petunias eyes narrowed as she said "But your bird stays with us while you go in."

Harry nodded quickly. "Sure." It was just like them to take hostages. She likely thought that if he left with all his possessions he wouldn't return, a tempting idea. No amount of money was worth Hedwigs life though. Harry took Hedwigs cage and brought it to Vernon in front of the trunk of the car.

Vernon was panting in a way that reminded Harry of Quirrel, before he had died. Harry had tackled the man to the floor. Unexpectedly applied force prevented him from compensating. Applied in just the right area, and Harry had toppled a full grown adult. Vernon was unsteady on his feet at the best of times. Harry knew just what he needed to do. They really shouldn't have tried to threaten Hedwig.

As Vernon clicked the trunk of the car open, Harry opened Hedwigs cage and let her free. Before Vernon could fully turn around at the noise, Harry bashed the cage into the back of Vernon's head. Vernon nearly fell face forward into the road, but caught himself on the car. Vernon grabbed the back of his head and started swearing.

Harry seeing this as the opportune moment to strike. Harry reached past his uncle grabbed his trunk and jerked it out. Even as his uncle turned around with a purple face, and fists clenched, Harry was already beginning to sprint away.

Harry could hear Vernon yelling behind him, but there was no way the overweight man could catch up through the crowded London streets. Harry ducked and dived past pedestrians traveling in the opposite direction. All the while his bird flew right above watching. Harry didn't stop running until he was certain he couldn't hear his uncles voice. Even then, Harry walked briskly, eyeing the road warily for his Aunts new car.

By the time he felt he was safe the sun was close to setting. The streets were near empty and Harry had no where to go.

He thought about sending one of his friends a letter asking if he could stay with them, but then a picture of them smiling as they reunited with their family's entered his mind. Harry couldn't ruin that. For all his talk of them being friends, the truth was he barely knew them for more than a year. He wasn't sure if they'd take him in for the summer, even if he was willing to intrude.

Then it hit him. Harry wasn't certain why he thought he needed anyone to take care of him. Sure he was only eleven, but he was a magical eleven year old. He may not be able to use his wand out of school, but he had a whole host of options.

Opening his trunk in a deserted alleyway, he surveyed his salvation. His trunk contained all the potion ingredients he didn't bother using throughout the year. Why bother practicing if your just going to fail anyways? He may not be an expert at potion making, or even good, but he had all summer to learn the skill enough to survive the harsh London streets.

Next to all his potion supply's was his invisibility cloak, a priceless artifact. Not just because of its sentimental value, but its inherent utility. He could spend the entire summer under it and live where ever he wanted.

Looking around at all the high rise apartments in downtown London, Harry couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face.

Wandering into one of the nicest apartment buildings he could find under his cloak wasn't hard. It was keeping his trunk from making too much noise as he dragged it. It was too large and heavy for him to carry, but he could drag it with one hand. luckily the grinding noise of wood on cement stopped as he brought into the carpeted lounge of the building.

The security looked up as the door chimed open without anyone opening it. However when nothing happened he just shrugged and went back to reading his magazine.

Harry's arm ached from dragging his trunk for hours. He was tempted to use the elevator, but the idea of being trapped in a small box with someone was nauseating. He took the stairs no matter how noisy it was when his trunk banged against every step. Getting to the second floor Harry decided it was good enough.

Harry stepped out into a well lit hallway. The walls were covered in beige wallpaper and the floors carpet was brown. Harry spotted a blonde teenage girl smoking a cigarette in the hallway with her door hanging open. She was young maybe 14 or 15, far too young to be smoking. Her eyes held that blank/bored look that all annoying teenage girls seem capable of. She was dressed very lightly, but that might because of the summer weather (Not that you could feel it inside the air conditioned apartment building).

Deciding he wouldn't get a better chance of getting into an apartment unnoticed, Harry walked past her inside. If he had to describe the apartment in one word, he would use clean. It was new, with marble counters in the kitchen and a balcony off the living room. The lack of mess or even very much in the way of decoration, just made it feel un-lived in. Harry decided who ever lived here had just moved in, hopefully they wouldn't mind a guest.

Harry found a room to hide his trunk in. The closet was filled with clothes and to top it off, the room had a pile of dirty clothes half his height in the corner. Harry figured no one would notice his trunk if he left it under a pile of clothes in the closet. The room very obviously belonged to a girl, with purple walls and jewelry hanging from the ceiling fan. Normally living in a girls room would bother him, but the other two rooms were far too neat, almost obsessively so. Who organizes their socks by length?

Harry pulled out his potion book in the corner and got to work reading. His cloak was nice, but having something to fall back on would make him feel better.

As the day passed and night came, Harry found out a great deal about his hosts. The apartment was home to two people, a teenage girl named Marissa, and her father Jon. Jon came home an hour or so after Harry had arrived. He was an obsessive control freak, who had in fact noticed Harry having moved his socks, and blamed Marissa for it. 'They were a centimeter to the left!'. Marissa was a rebellious teenage girl, who looked used to and exasperated by Jon's antics.

Harry may have learned a lot about his new roommates, but the same could not be said of potions. As it turns out learning from books could only take you so far, no matter how many times you reread the first year potion book. Harry needed practice and for that he needed privacy.

Harry waited until the dead of night, wasting most of his time snacking on whatever was in the fridge. After he'd finished the last of their yogurt he made sure to add it to the list they kept on the fridge door, he wasn't a heathen after all.

Once all the lights were out and doors safely shut, Harry began his preparations. Grabbing his cauldron and ingredients from Marissa's room wasn't a problem, apparently teenage girls sleep like the dead. Harry filled his cauldron with water and set in the stove. He propped open his potion book and looked through it for something easy, to get his feet wet as it were.

He found the Boil removal cream. It was the first thing they'd practiced that year. It actually worked on all zits, boils, warts, ect. As it was more of a paste than a potion, Harry dumped out most of his water.

Creating the potion in the silence of the night, in the privacy of the kitchen, was actually fairly easy. No students attempting to sabotage his work. No noisy ambiance of children chattering. Just a boy and his cauldron. Finally he stirred in the final ingredient, crushed slug guts. He had a white creamy sludge when he was done. It was the same color and consistency as described in the book, it even smelled like it should.

He couldn't be certain it worked though. He needed a test subject, sadly as a prepubescent boy, he was lacking in zits and boils. However he had noticed some black heads on Marissa. She wasn't exactly covered in blemishes, but she had some as every teenager does.

A quick search through the bathroom revealed a product designed for acne treatment. His first test would require careful observation. He replaced the cream in the bottle with the paste he had created. They didn't look even slightly similar, Harry hoped she wouldn't notice.

Being useful again, felt nice. Perhaps when he got good enough, he'd help his hosts with other things.

~(-)~

Draco was crying in his room, if anything taught him to hate mudbloods it was this pain. Father had the audacity to take his brooms! As if that wasn't enough he wasn't allowed to leave the house either. He might as well be dead. His friends would probably think he was, when they don't see him all sumer

All this horrific punishment because some disgusting mudblood scored higher than him on the finals. He had tried his best, he really did. Granger was just such a stupid know-it-all. How could he compete with someone who lived in the library? There was just no way, it couldn't be done.

Father said if he didn't fix this, he just might disinherit him. It wouldn't be the first time he used that threat to motivate or punish him. However this was the first time father brought home the papers to do just that. Father had screamed the threat at him in a frothing rage, before he went to go drink with his friends.

Someone knocked twice on his bedroom door. Draco tried to stifle his sobs, at the cruelty of the world. Rubbing the tears out of his eyes probably didn't make him any more presentable, but it was the best he could do on such short notice. He forlornly walked to the door past piles of discarded toys, and the tray filled with ice cream the house elf had yet to take away.

Opening the door he was surprised at seeing who it was. Draco had thought she was at her book club today.

"Mother?"

She was smiling sadly down at him. If it didn't make him feel so much better, he'd be angry at such a condescending action. She swiftly embraced him upon seeing the state he was in.

"Oh sweety, are you alright?" She spoke while rubbing circles into his back.

"No! Father took my brooms and he said I can't leave the house... He even told the house elves not to let me leave!"

"I know darling, I know." She hugged him tightly as he cried.

As draco finally calmed down, his mother released him. She stood next to him in silence for a few minutes while Draco got ahold of himself.

"How would you like to learn the family magics?" She asked soothingly.

"Really!? Father said I had to earn it before he would teach me any spells!" Draco was shocked, he would finally learn some dark arts. Then he would teach that mudblood not to mess with him again. All the other Slytherins would do what he said. Maybe he wouldn't have to bring up father to gain respect anymore? ...Nah, people needd to know what a noble lineage he hailed from.

"Not just any spells, the family magics, they're special. Every family has ways of prolonging and preserving life." She paused and made a face. "Well the good ones anyways. These methods are kept secret, kept hidden, only passed down when a child is deemed ready. I don't know the Malfoy magics, but I was taught the Blacks family magic when I was just a young girl. I think I was just about your age when I first started learning."

Draco was disappointed he wouldn't be learning dark arts, or the Malfoy family magics, but learning the Black family magics might be fun. The Blacks weren't as noble and distinguished as the Malfoys, but they were ancient and pure. He would have to settle for learning the second best family magics. It wasn't like he had anything else to do, now that he was trapped at home.

"Alright, when do we start?" He replied happily.

She smiled brightly at his enthusiasm. "Why, right now if you wish." Her grin took on a more malevolent appearance. The shadows seemed to coalesce as if drawn to her presence. "Now... What do you know of Necromancy?"

~(-)~

Days had come and gone. The humid weather of early summer had faded into the dry heat of late summer. Harry had yet to get any postage from his friends. He had even sent Hedwig out with letters, yet she had come back withe empty talons.

Aside from the lack of word from his friends, Harry was having the best summer by far. He was eating well courtesy of a well stocked fridge, and when they didn't have what he liked he could always go check someone else's fridge.

He hadn't talked to anyone in weeks. This might upset some people, humans being social creatures and all. To Harry however it just reminded him of the better parts of his childhood.

That isn't to say he wasn't learning anything about socialising. Marissa and her father had a dynamic that Harry had never seen before. They constantly insulted each other and fought, but the way they would look at each other made it seem like they were happy about it. They had more tender moments interspersed between the jabs at each others faults, hugs as they got home, smiles as they greeted one another. It was endearing, and sweet. It was something Harry hadn't seen before, he wanted it for himself.

Harry had spent most of his time learning the intricacies of basic potion making. He could brew a mean calming elixir. He knew because Marissa and Jon had been so calm on movie night, they fell asleep during the opening credits. He had learned several things about potioneering over the summer, but by far the most important was that potions had a drastically exaggerated effect on muggles. A potion that might make him more resistant to the summer heat, would make a muggle inflammable. He had no clue as to why, and it was mind boggling.

That was another first for Harry, he had never been allowed near the television at the Dursleys. Now he had access to whole wide array of shows and movies. Whole concepts and ideas , he had never thought twice about, now brought to life before him. His only regret being he couldn't change the channel to what he wanted to watch, forced to sit invisibly nearby as someone constantly changed the station mid program.

It was another late dinner of pasta with gross cheese sauce. Harry was disgusted by the bits broccoli the family had put in it, but forced himself to put some on the plate under his cloak, or he wouldn't get to eat until everyone was out of sight.

Jon had just returned form whatever job he went during the day, and was talking to Marissa about her social life. A topic Harry wish he knew less about. He could care less which teenage girl was dating the dreamboat that is Tom Hardy, but Jon seemed to give it his undivided attention.

Harry was content to idly eat his pasta on the floor. Content to luxuriate in the idle chatter of two people, who he might say he had grown fond of. When someone knocked on the door. Marissa and Jon both paused in their talk, silent for a few moments, they just stared at each other. Until the knocking came again. Jon got up silently and went to the door.

In the weeks Harry had lived here, no one had ever knocked on the door. no one had visited, came over, tried to sell something. For all Marissa's social life, she had gone out to her friends. It was almost as if no one knew they lived here. Harry didn't know why they would want that though. It was a nice apartment if Harry was any judge, and considering all the apartments he'd visited this summer, he was. He didn't see any reason they should be embarrassed about it.

Harry could see Jon cautiously open the door out of the corner of his eye. After pulling the chain off and, opening the door slightly he asked "Hello...?"

The only reply he received being the door kicked into him and three armed men entering. The men were all wearing suits and wielding pistols with silencers attached to the end. The silencers looked to be taped on. The men grabbed Jon's flailing form and dragged him into the kitchen.

Harry was just as shocked as Marissa. His mouth gaping, pasta fell back out onto the plate. A home invasion? he wondered.

"You thought you could get away with it, eh? Skimming off the top. You thought we wouldn't notice. Probably thought we was stupid... Didn't you Jon? Well whose stupid now!?" One of the men yelled as they slammed Jon onto the table.

Harry absently watch as Marissa's plate fell to the floor and shattered. Marissa herself had fled to the corner and hunched in on herself crying. That upset Harry greatly. This was the girl he would watch Saturday morning cartoons with. The girl who would laugh at the same stupid jokes, he silently chuckled at. The girl who didn't whine when he constantly stole her icecream, whenever she looked away. A girl who should not be crying.

Jon Held his hands up in a pleading motion, even as the men held him still. "Marcus, I don't know what you're talking about, but Giovonni's going to be pissed when he finds out about this. Assaulting his book-"

The man named Marcus slammed his hands onto the table. "SHUT UP! Who do you think sent us here!? Giovonni knows all about the game you've been playin, and he sends his regards."

Jon lowered his hands at this new information, the light leaving his eyes. "You don't have to do this. We can work out a deal... Let me talk to Giovonni."

"You'll talk alright, but not to the boss. He doesn't even want to look at you... Now where's the money?" Marcus yelled.

Harry had heard enough. This was just like Quirrel. A man who wanted wealth and didn't who got hurt on his path to taking it. If he had learned anything from Quirrel it's that men like that wont stop until they're dead. Harry didn't want to kill these men. He had come to terms with the fact that he had to kill Quirrel, it was necessary. He could probably come to terms with what he was about to do to these men as well.

Harry's hand slipped out of his cloak and grabbed a kitchen knife in a practiced motion, just barely appearing before it and the item were gone. Anyone who had blinked wouldn't have seen it. Weeks of attempting to stay hidden had made his footsteps light and quiet. No one heard him walk behind one of the men holding Jon on the table. They heard what happened next though. Slipping the knife out of his cloak as quickly as his hands could move, Harry drove the knife into the mans lower back with both hands.

"ARGH!" His head head reared up as he screamed. The man tried to reach behind his back, but was so heavily muscled he couldn't get his hands far enough to reach the handle. The wound was already bleeding profusely, staining the nice suit brown.

Harry stepped away before the man could reach behind him. He needn't have worried no one even suspected another occupant was in the room.

"Rick whats wrong? You hav'n a heart attack?" The man across him asked, his face actually showing concern for his partner.

"There's something in my back." Rick sobbed out as he turned around trying to show his partner.

As the man turned around and bent slightly over, Harry was already back from the kitchen counter. Even as the other men gasped at the sight of the knife protruding from Rick's lower back, Harry was striking. Harry rose up both hands behind the handle of the falay knife. Harry drove it directly into the Rick's throat.

With a gurgle he fell backwards onto Jon, who tried to scramble away from rick. Jon was held on too tightly by the other man for him to make any progress.

"What the fuck! What the FUCK!" Marcus yelled out.

Harry was certain there were more knives somewhere, but all he could see in the dish rack was butter knives. All well, they were probably in a drawer. Harry walked up to the table and reached for the knife embedded in Rick's throat. It came out with a spout of blood, luckily Harry didn't get any on his fathers cloak.

~(-)~

Marcus was frozen at the sight of his left hand man dying on the table. Seeing a small childish hand appear from thin air and jerk the knife out, ended any hesitation he might have had. he pulled up his pistol and fired at whatever was on the other side of the table. He emptied his entire clip at the wall before finally hitting something. A small boy, maybe 9 or 10 years old, fell out of a silvery blanket. The boy's eyes popped open and he scrambled for the blanket.

"Alan grab him before he gets away!" Marcus shouted at Alan, there was no way he was going near that thing. Alan nodded in reply. Marcus could tell he was shaken from how white his face was. Rick had been his partner for more than 3 years.

Alan gripped the boys wrist and slapped the knife out of the other hand, before he started punching the kid repeatedly. Marcus's first instinct was to stop him, he didn't like child abusers, but seeing the kids handiwork out of the corner of his eye made him forget that.

There was a loud popping noise from the table and a squeaky voice that followed it "Harry Potter! Dobby has comes to warn... you..." Marcus looked over and saw a green midget with pointed ears staring at Alan with wide eyes. The abnormally giant eyes suddenly narrowed in obvious anger and then began to glow. Marcus didn't know what went wrong, he had just wanted to make a warning out of a rat and thief. What was so hard about that?

"YOUSE WILL NOT TOUCH HARRY POTTER!" The green midget screamed shrilly, before snapping his fingers.

Chairs began to rise. Drawer and cupoard doors slammed open and closed, as all manner of silverware and cooking utensils rose in the air. The very room seemed to tilt on its axis, Marcus had to grab the floor just to avoid sliding down to the wall. The room shook with an explosion of air. Marcus could see the microwave and fridge had blown up in a shower of metal and plastic. The lights above were flickering, before they too exploded in a shower of glass and sparks.

Finally, mere moments later, when the world seemed to calm again Marcus looked up. His eyes widened at the sight, his stomach clenched from what he was processing. He'd seen torture scenes more gentle than what happened to Alan. Alan was stuck to the wall by the silverware embedded in him. Not an inch of his skin could be seen behind all the kitchen utensils driven into him. His corpse twitched sporadically to hint at the fact that Alan could still be aware enough to experience this.

Marcus looked away, disgusted at the sight. He stared at the ground listlessly until a pair of sneakers entered his vision. Looking up he saw the boy from earlier. Creepily pale with green eyes that were glaring at him. Where he should've been covered in bruises from the beating he'd received prior, his skin was unblemished. It was something out of a horror movie.

"My name is Harry Potter, and you will leave or you will die." He spoke softly in a voice that sounded like it hadn't been used in years.

His eyes widened at the chance for living. "Of course, kid. Consider me gone." He stood up quickly and limped out of the apartment as swiftly as he could. Green eyes, both from the wrinkly midget and child, followed his every move. Constantly aware of his exposed back, just waiting for when the horror movie creatures would strike again. One final thought changed his entire outlook on what just occurred.

"The boss needs to hear about this..."

~(-)~

An elf looks upon a boy. An elf can't help but be amazed at the sight of him. He is everything an elf ever thought he would be. A boy is brave, heroic, and noble, just as all the legends described. Even from here an elf can feel a boy's intentions are pure, just as his heart is.

An elf must deliver his warning, but perhaps it wouldn't be too much trouble to simply bask in a boys presence for a mere moment.

"What- Er who are you?" A boy asks politely, not once did a boy threaten him in greeting. Truly a boys nobility knows no bounds.

An elf shakes away the last vestiges of his stupor. An elf must deliver his warning or it may be too late. Time is of the essence, so an elf formulates his reply so as to best be understood by the less enlightened. A true challenge indeed, but an elf is sure it is a challenge made easier by the wisdom and greatness of a boy.

"Dobby is heres to give the great Harry Potter a warning! Hes must not go back to Hogwarts!" An elf is certain his message is understood. A boy is wise enough to decipher the meaning of the wind, the purpose of the clouds, the journey of the stream. An elves simple message will not last long under a boy's scrutiny.

"Not go back to Hogwarts!? I-I need to-Why?" A boy asks in the native tongue of centaur and men. An elf must attempt again to circumvent the rules. An elf feels the pain returning again at his attempt. An elf persists.

"There is a great danger! Great Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts!" An elf persists. An elf does so, not out of duty, nor for an greater purpose. An elf does so for its self.

An elf stares deeply into the shimmering eyes of a boy. An elf can feel a boys curiosity and generousity. An elf can see a boy is beyond the measure of elves and mer alike. A boy goes deeper than any an elf has gazed into before. An elf has missed what a boy has spoken, An elf feels his cheeks heating up.

"Yes, you've said that. but why?" A boy is not understanding. Perhaps an elf underestimated a boy's insight. No! an elf must not think such things! A boy simply does not know the rules. An elf cannot mention the rules without breaking the rules. An elf is prepared to pay the price, if it helps a boy understand.

"Dobby's family ha-ARkgh!" An elf tried to finish it all, but was overcome by compulsion. An elf must punish its self.

"Stop- hitting yourself! STOP!" Truly an elf could not find a kinder boy. An elf must deliver its warning or lose everything. Looking deeply into a boys eyes, an elf can't help but feel no price is too high.

As an elf opens his mouth to speak he can feel the boy has come to a realization, so an elf waits.

"You can't tell me what it is... and your family sent you here?" An elf nods lest he lead a boy astray with his poor grasp of the tongue of men and centaur. Blessed be the forest king, an elf cannot make himself understood.

An elf knows what he must do. There is no tongue swifter than that of the elves. An elf must take the pain upon himself and form a link. A link could not be misunderstood, even colored in the kindness of a boys thoughts.

An elf stares deeply into a boys eyes, deeper than ever before. An elf falls in, but must go deeper. An elf must find the center, before a link will form. An elf feels it, the center of a boy. The link has formed.

~(-)~

Images flash before an unprepared mind. A pile of dirty blankets in an attic. A small green hand dusting family paintings. Ironing that same small green hand with a hot iron. Eventually the images slow and stop coming to one that flows like a movie.

An aristocratic blonde man is striding in his home office. The man is furious at having been unable to pass a bill in the wizengamot. That isn't quite true. The man is furious he was publicaly called out on the small addendum he had hidden in the bill. An addendum which heavily favoured pure bloods such as himself.

It drew into doubt everything he stood for in the last 10 years. His entire image shattered. No longer was he a wealthy philanthropist politician. No, now all anyone could think or talk about when they heard the name Luscious Malfoy was ex-Deatheater.

It had gotten bad, very bad. So bad in fact that he had heard rumor of a surprise search of his mansion for dark arts artifacts of all things. He had a few trophys and such, from his glory days that might get him in trouble, not that they would ever find such things.

Still it would be better to be rid of them, and who better to take them off his hands than the very man who caused this incident, Albus Dumbledore. No doubt some of these items will cause him trouble, maybe even make him lose political capital.

Pulling out a slim journal from the pile of artifacts, Luscious was overcome by an inexplicable urge to write in it. Recognizing the compulsion for what it was, he disregarded it. He recognized the journal though, it was the same one his old master had referred to as the 'key to the chamber of secrets'. The chamber which had killed a mudblood girl at Hogwarts 50 years ago and led to Headmaster Dippets retirement. No doubt this will cause Dumbledore no end of trouble, he might even be fired. The only question being who to give it t-

Harry jerked at the influx of foreign memorys and thoughts. His head pounded with pain. Every flicker of the overhead light was a stab of pain into his skull. He clenched his eyes shut. This was the second time someone had managed to hurt him. Harry was starting to wonder if magic was decisively not wonderful.

"Dobby, what was that!?" Harry spoke through clenched teeth. Sweat dripped down his brow and onto his scratched and cracked glasses. Dobby was too busy trying to paint the floor with his head to reply.

Eyeing the unconscious Jon, and Marissa who was still huddled in the corner, he realized where his priorities lay. He may have been attempting to help them, but the cuts and bruises on Marissa and the growing purple bump on Jon's head spoke of a different outcome.

Harry looked back to Dobby, who was banging his head on the floor again. "Dobby can you help them?"

He instantly gained the elfs attention. "Does Harry Potter promise not to return to Hogwarts?"

Harry glared at the elf. He may have been grateful for the save, but his gratitude only extended so far. Dobby withholding help from two people who were injured in his outburst was toeing the line.

"Help them, or I'll go to Hogwarts right now." Instead of cowing him like Harry had expected, Dobby was glaring fiercely back at Harry. Even as Dobby kept eye contact, he snapped his fingers. The room righted itself. Utensils flew back into their drawers. The refrigerator and microwave repaired themselves, pieces flowing together seamlessly. Two corpses melted into nothing. All the while Dobby maintained eye contact with his fierce glare. This was clearly a show of force.

Harry wasn't one to be cowed by some parlor tricks however, so he folded his arms and waited. The overhead light repaired itself. The rooms other two occupants floated down the hallway into their respective bedrooms.

The room was pristine once again and still. There was an underlying tension to the room. Two beings more stubborn than the stone they were cut from, were about to come to a head.

Harry was certain what he'd seen earlier were memory's, both Dobbys memory's and Draco's father. Clearly this little creature could read minds. Harry took the warning for what it was, but Harry didn't need to worry as nothing could hurt him... Barring killing curses... and telepathic little green men. Still he needed to be at Hogwarts all his friends were there, and if something deadly was happening at Hogwarts. Then he needed to be there for his friends. Harry just needed Dobby to see it his way.

"Look, Dobby I'm grateful for all your help, but you don't need to worry about me." Harry soothed.

"Dobby Don't? The great and powerful Harry Potter will not return to Hogwarts?" Dobby asked excitedly.

"No, I'm going. You just don't need to worry. I can't be harmed." Harry spoke while picking up his cloak. He needed to get ready to leave. He doubted his hosts would want him to stay after this, and they knew he was here now.

Dobby silently stared at him for a few moments head cocked, probably reading Harry's mind as he spoke. Harry shivered at the thought, and focused on spells failing to harm him, he focused on knives failing to pierce his skin, he focused on the bullet that had merely knocked him over.

"Can't... be harmed? Dobby knew great Harry Potter was powerful, but Dobby was wrong. He's be being the greatest wizard of all time." Dobby nodded ears flapping.

"Good, so you'll leave me alone?" Harry asked hopefully.

The elf shook his head no resolutely. "Dobby can't let Harry Potter go. Something dark and twisted will be at Hogwarts. Something that will see Harry Potter dead."

Harry huffed exasperatedly, at the vague, ominous, and most importantly useless warning. "I guess were at an impasse then."

Dobby pulled a large bundle of letters out of his smock. "Then I guess the great Harry Potter not bes want'n his letters?"

Harrys eyes widened. He had wondered why he wasn't getting post. At first he thought everyone was busy or writing him was too much effort, but when his Hogwarts letter had failed to arrive he thought something was up.

Now he knew, Dobby had been messing with him all summer. Dobby was no longer toeing the line, he'd sprinted past it. "Give me those!" Harry shouted at the elf. Having seen what the elf was capable of, he was reluctant to try and physically take his letters.

"Only if yous promise Dobby." The elf was waving the letters with one hand on his hip, as if he was scolding a child, which admittedly Harry was.

"Dobby I'm going to count to 3 and if I don't have those letters, than I 'promise' you. You. Will. Regret. It." Dobby looked wide eyed at the threat, maybe he was seeing all the imaginative, physically impossible things Harry was imagining doing to Dobby.

"1..." Dobby began shaking. His eyes were darting around, as if looking for an exit.

"2..." Tears began welling up in Dobbys eyes.

"3.-" Before Harry could finish Dobby screamed out in frustration, threw the bundle at him, and teleported away.

~(-)~

AN:

It feels like whatever problem I present Harry is immediately solved through dues ex magica. I had to try and shoehorn tension into these minor inconveniences, it left a bad taste in my mouth. So I thought long and hard on what problems I could present to a partially immortal eleven year old wizard. Out of the 3 conflicts man vs man, man vs nature, and man vs self. I thought, man vs self is just whiny moral bull shit, which has no place in my fan fictions. Man Vs. Nature might be fun, but Harry is finding it easy to coast, so survival is out for now, and I have plans for any monstrous creature that could hurt him. Man vs man is really the only way to go. You get that cliche rivalry going, Sherlock Holmes against Moriarty, David vs Goliath, Batman against the joker. Two people of relatively equal strength forced to outwit each other. So Harry needed a rival, an equal of sorts. Someone who's strengths didn't match up exactly but is still comparable. I thought to myself, doesn't Harry already have a rival? An antagonist who he regularly dukes it out with? It's time to welcome Draco Malfoy to the stage! Aspiring dark lord, and soon to be limitedly immortal.

I don't think I've ever read a Potion! Harry. By that I mean a Harry who's sole strength is potion making. Not a Harry who happens to be good at potions but is held back by cruel teachers. Sort of like Temporal Knights runestone path, but with potions instead of runes.

Eventual pairings! Go ahead and tell me who I should pair people with. Anyones fine. Harry/Griphook, Hermione/Firenze, Ron/Dobby, Pomena/Harry, Harry/Dumbledore/The Grey Lady. Whatever gets the most votes gets written. I have no clue how to set up a poll, so until someone tells me otherwise, send your votes however you like. Alas, nothing will come of it until they're old enough.

Some may say I portray an abused and neglected child poorly. To you I ask, have you read the rest of my fic? I portray everything poorly. Asking me to accurately give a glimpse into the life of an abused child is like asking a new sculptor to sculpt himself. He knows the subject matter well enough. Putting it into form is where it begins to fall apart. As his clumsy inexperienced hands fail to mold the clay accurately, so too do my words fail to form an accurate picture of what I want you to see. It's all right here in my head, I just can't seem to articulate it.

They say it's when you first begin your hobby that all your habits are made. For good or bad, I'm developing all my writing habits right now. I can see myself going down the well paved fanfiction road of writing harem smut due to poor advice, poor form, poor habits. Why don't you help me? Push me off the road. I know, I know, It's rude and stuff, but the best medicine tastes foul. I need a shove off the well tread road I walk, so I can explore the new frontier of writing bad fiction.

Deep in the woods off the side of this road, where no man, dog, or writer has ever walked, there sits an idea so pure and new you can't help but stare deeply into its maddening colors. It leaves you feeling hollow. Every experience you've ever had, every joy and pain, fails to compare to the feelings this idea brings out of you.

Further down, beneath the color that drew you in at first, beneath the emotions it evoked, there sits a grain of wisdom at its heart. It's yours for the taking. This wisdom belongs to you now and no one can take it. You reach out and grasp the single grain. Only for it to flow through your fingers. The grain of wisdom was inside you all along.


	2. The Reluctant Warrior

Disclaimer: Owning things is for people with money, like that J.K. Rowling lady, I hear she's pretty rich. She owns Harry Potter, which I do not in fact own. For a further list of things I do not own consult my Amazon wishlist.

~(-)~

Harry stepped into the chill night air of the London streets, to see someone he hadn't expected to see for a month yet. Dumbledore, wearing his bright purple robes, was standing in front of the apartment building. His arms were folded behind his back, as he smiled at Harry calmy. It was as if Dumbledore had expected they would meet here.

Harry must've missed the memo. He had just been booted out of the nicest home he had ever had the pleasure of living in. Harry didn't want to hear Dumbledores spiel on how family is the greatest thing on earth, and he should go be with the Dursleys. No thank you, not if they were the last troglodytes on earth.

Harry was angry he had let that incident devolve into that frantic mess. He was frustrated he didn't help sooner, that some elf had accidentally hurt his new friends (Not that they knew they were friends). He just wanted to find a place to rest for the summer. Then get ready for whatever crazy journal related shenanigans was happening at school this year.

He doubted that would be happening though. With Dumbledore here that meant his fate was decided for him, and he'd just have to wait to find out what that was. Dumbledores an acedemic though, an intelligent man. The sort that can be reasoned with. Harry would give it his best shot, but he wasn't feeling very reasonable.

"Imagine my surprise, when I received word of an underage magic infraction for a Mr. Harry James Potter. Weeks spent searching for you, when poor Mrs. Figg found you'd never come home. Only to find you with an archaic underage magic detection system. I believe there's a lesson to be learned there, never dismiss the resources we have at our disposal." Dumbledore smiled cheerily at the end.

Harry was flummoxed over this reaction. He'd expect a stern disciplinarian, ready to really dig into how poor his decision making skills are. Not a calm lecturer. Wait... something struck him as odd about that.

"You know Mrs. Figg?" Harry wondered aloud, Dumbledore only smirked in reply.

"Would you like to take a walk with me?" Dumbledore asked offering his wrinkled hand.

Not seeing any reason to refuse him, Harry took his hand. After all, the more time wasted here, the more time he'd have to convince Dumbledore of his reasoning.

"Now it is my belief, that the reason you were so hard to find can be laid at the feat of that silvery cloak in your arms. But Albus I said to myself, there's no way he could be wearing his cloak all the time. It would be tedious and a hindrance to basic hygiene." Dumbledore raised an eyebrow waiting for an explanation.

"Not exactly a hindrance... I just showered late at night, but if you mean did I ever wash the cloak? No, I didn't." Harry spoke cautiously, not really sure where this was going.

"I'm relieved to hear you were at least washing yourself regularly, but were you eating well?" He smoothly changed subjects.

Harry cringed at such a babying topic. He was 11 now, practically an adult. He could see where this was going, however. Dumbledore was going to play the 'this is for your own good card' sighting Harry's less than stellar lifestyle as a need for Dursley supervision.

"I'll take your silence as a no. Can you see now why, I might want you with your family? If not for familial bonds, then at least so someone will take care of you." He spoke the reprimand in a disappointed tone.

"They were going to take my inheritance, I couldn't just let them get away with that! and they're awful people..." Harry's cheeks were red from shouting at his teacher.

Dumbledore was silent for a moment as they walked. No doubt mulling over how best to dispel Harry's viewpoint.

"If that is the case, than I must make sure they get a more accurate view of their position. They aren't in a place to make demands. You must still go back, however. Worry not, I will make sure they never attempt to steal from orphans again." Dumbledore sounded sad.

Harry was confused, if Dumbledore had even the slightest idea of what the Dursleys were like. Why would he want him to go back?

"Why would you want me to go back?" Harry demanded to know.

"Your mother killed the greatest Dark Lord of this century. Some say the greatest Dark Lord to ever walk the face of this earth. He had many ally's both hidden and known. If they could get at your relatives, a swift death would be a mercy. I enacted a pair of the strongest confounding wards I could around your home. However it's location makes setting up any permanent wards a hassle at best. There isn't a single ley line within miles of your home, in fact I believe it is the most mundane place in all of England. The wards are powered off the ambient magic you produce. Without your regular appearance, the wards will fail and your relatives will die, all in swift order." Spoke quickly and concisely, his face set into a hard frown.

"Why would I want to power wards for them? What have they ever done for me?" Harry spoke rashly.

Dumbledore paused in his steps, turning around he turned his frown towards Harry, anger and frustration visible in his posture.

"You would leave the last of your relatives to the worst of humanity? You would leave them to be tortured, mutilated, enthralled. You would see your childhood home burned to the ground, with his mark floating above the remains of what was once a happy home?" Dumbledore waited a moment for Harry's reply. When one wasn't forthcoming, he started again anger coloring his tone. "If this is how you treat family, no matter how distant or estranged... Then I mourn for whatever future family you may have." With that said, Dumbledore began striding away.

Harrys mind conjured up a picture of Marrisa and Jon when Dumbledore mentioned family. He had only known them for two weeks, but they were the very ideal he thought of when he heard family. An image of them hurt because of his actions followed it. He knew he would regret the choice even as he made it, but he'd be damned if another family got hurt because of him again.

"Wait, I'll go back to Privet Drive!" Harry shouted at Dumbledore's retreating form.

When Dumbledore turned to face him, with a small proud smile on his face, Harry knew he had made the right decision.

~(-)~

Marcus walked into his fathers office, the man was usually busy organizing the business, but he would never deny his son entry. He would bitch and whine, but always let Marcus right on through. Calling Giovonni anything that inferred familiarity, was a big no no. Sometimes Marcus would get frustrated with the subterfuge. He knew why it had to be, he just didn't like it.

Waking in to see the big man himself, put Marcus at ease. The boss could plan for anything. Giovonni was a big man not just in the metaphorical sense, although not always in a pleasant sense. His massive gut was clearly protruding well past his chest, pushing his well tailored suit to its limits. Marcus needed to come up with a way to explain what happened earlier, without coming off as mad as a hatter, or worse some kind of druggy. His father may well be the biggest pusher of illegal narcotics this side of London, but he'd be damned if his own flesh and blood started using. A lesson engraved into the scars on Marcus' back, a lesson he may well just be about to relearn.

Without looking up from his paperwork Giovonni spoke. "What is it, Marcus? Back from the rat so soon? You need me to congratulate you after every minor job and errand? Good job, now get back to work." His farther was in a foul mood, reflexive sarcasm was his usual coping mechanism.

If his father was angry already, Marcus was scared to see how he'd react to this story. Giovonni was a very practical man. He wouldn't care for excuses, especially if he thought they were bull shit. Giovonni would probably yell at him for wasting his time, maybe emphasize the point with a few hits, then send him back into the demon child's lair. Where presumably his pet grumpkin would use forks to pin him to a wall before he scooped his eyes out with spoons. Not a great way to go. Marcus had to make this convincing or die trying.

"Boss... something happened. I don't know the best way to go about explaining it without you going off on me... so..." This was much harder than Marcus originally envisioned.

Beady black eyes narrowed. A well stressed suit flexed to near breaking point as its owners voice bellowed. "Out with it! Boy!"

"Right, right. Well we went to Jon's house just like planned. We had him pinned to the table and were just about to find out where he'd hidden the money, when... Alan and Rick are dead... This is the part you wont believe. There was some small boy, called himself Harry Potter, with a cape that made 'em invisible and a little genie that could move things without touchen 'em. They killed my men, before letting me escape. I barely got away with my life." Marcus shot out the hardest part in one breath. Now he only had to wait for his beating then probable death sentence.

Giovonni sat there staring at Marcus, paper work forgotten, before getting up and grabbing his scotch and some glasses. "Close the door and sit down son. There's something you need to know." Marcus noted the fact that he called him son, something Giovonni never did.

Closing the door and sitting down, he was passed a glass of scotch. This wasn't what he was expecting. He had thought of two probable outcomes. Either his dad wouldn't believe him resulting in some harsh words and being sent back to finish the job Or his dad would believe him and they'd avoid that place like the plague. This was different from any of his expectations and it was starting to weird Marcus out.

"I know a guy, who will sell you a decanter of some stuff that will close any wounds. It heals knife and gun wounds faster than the eye can follow. I know for a fact he has more and better things that he keeps to himself. This sounds a lot like one of his type of things. A cape that lets you turn invisible would be an invaluable asset. I could end this turf war that's been bugging me in a fortnight. Because my contact wont sell me any of the good stuff and any gang that tries to rob him ends up disappear'n. I think we should procure this cape." Giovonni began typing away on his computer.

Marcus was stunned, he hadn't really thought of it as a potential resource to be exploited, just a headache to be avoided. Since such a powerful weapon was in the hands of some scrawny kid, he could easily just take it and run. No need to fight grumpkins, just avoid some knife toting child. Giovonni would probably send him and some of the boys. he could use one or two of them as a distraction then get the hell out with his new weapon.

Giovonni turned his computer screen towards Marcus. There was a picture of the kid who stabbed Rick in a student ID. Said he went to Surrey Elementary School. "This the Harry Potter you saw?" Giovonni rumbled.

"Yeah that's the little maniac." Marcus affirmed. Approaching the problem with the little devils home address, made confronting him a lot less of a death sentence. He was starting to feel, dare he say it, optimistic.

"Says here he lives at #4 Privet drive... family of 4... Alright plans coming together. Go grab some of the boys and go to this address. Take his family hostage, then make the boy pay everything he's worth and more." Giovonni smirked.

Marcus couldn't help but return it. It made him look much more like his large father. He could do this. The world was a strange place, but Marcus would grab it by the reigns and make it his bitch.

"Consider it done... Dad."

~(-)~

Arriving at Privet drive brought less fanfare than Harry had originally anticipated. Dumbledore went in and talked with them alone, before Harry was allowed in. He wasn't sure what was said, but Harry had never seen his relatives more angry when he came in. None of the expectent screaming fits and threats, just silent loathing visible underneath a heated glare.

It made Harry feel frustrated, they obviously didn't want him here. He didn't want to be here. The only question remaining was he willing to let them die, simply because it'd be more convenient to live somewhere else? The answer was so obvious he felt guilty for even having to think about it earlier. He would sacrifice a month of his life, if only because they were the last of his mothers blood. There was no better way to honor his mothers sacrifice. Still, just because he was forced to live here for a month didn't give them the right to treat him so poorly.

"Make sure you make six extra rashers of bacon for Dudders, he's a growing boy. I don't want to see a single spot of grease anywhere. Oh and when your done you can start painting the shed. We only have one month a year to get all the pounds we've spent on you back, so I need to make the most of it. I hope you didn't plan on sleeping." She was glaring at him as she talked, daring him to try and talk back.

Harry wouldn't talk back, but not out of respect. He just didn't like wasting his breath on a conversation that wouldn't be remembered until tomorrow.

"Yes aunt Petunia, I'll get started on it right away." Harry lied. He'd gotten pretty good at that, she only caught on some of the time now.

She harrumphed and walked away. If only she'd stayed a moment longer she would've seen Harry pull out a small vial and pour it into the scrambled egg mix.

As it turned out Dumbledore knew about the potion loophole to under age magic, and encouraged his studying habits. He'd encouraged it so greatly in fact, that he'd procured him an expanded pouch filled with magical reagents, and other less useful ingredients. He'd also given him some books on the subject. Dumbledore had called it a late birthday gift. Harry saw it for what it really was though, an apology for the Dursleys.

Harry had taken the olive branch and ran with it. The forgetfulness potion had been the first year final. He could brew it in his sleep now. He'd gone so far as to modify the potion as well. A reduction in the amount of magical catalyst, reduced the effectiveness enough that it wouldn't make it permanent, even with muggle tolerance for potions. Applying some of his own hair, centered the effect on himself.

Now when ever he dosed their morning breakfast, the entirety of the Dursley family would forget he existed. It was so effective they were entirely incapable of seeing him even when he stood in front of them. It was more effective than his invisibility cloak.

After finishing his only chore for the day, and tripping Dudley for the 5th time, Harry went back to learning different methods to modify existing potions. Harry felt a little sad, that the only way for him to get along with his relatives was to drug them. Well, it wasn't the only way, but it was the easiest. Harry had read about a potion called the Confidence Brew. It didn't make you confident, it made you far more capable of navigating social situations. Like going from... oh say an... introvert who spent most of his formative years locked in a closet, to television host suave. It wasn't a permanent solution, it came with lots of adverse side effects after it wore off (Headache, nausea, temporary social retardation), more of a temporary bandaid.

It might not even work. The Dursleys might hate him no matter how well he acted towards them. Some impressions are impossible to remove. Harry felt guilty about drugging them regularly, but this way was best for everyone. They get to live their lives like he wasn't here, they got protection from vengeful wizards, and Harry didn't get shat on every day. Everyone won. It just left a bad taste in Harrys mouth, not that weird social mind control potions are morally superior or anything. It's just maybe he wouldn't feel so guilty if he was only drugging himself. Forget what he said, no one wins.

Even if his plan for pacifying the Dursley hate fell through. Harry felt this was well worth his time. There was something about seeing your skill in a subject improve so drastically from what it once was. It was satisfying in a way quidditch, something he was naturally gifted at and had never improved at, simply wasn't. A month and a half ago he would never have dreamed of claiming to have any proficiency in the dreaded art. Now he could claim Potion making as one of his strengths. It was doubtful Snape would ever see it that way, but a boy could dream.

He was just about to start brewing a mood altering potion above 40 different tea light candles, when he heard muffled shouting and banging downstairs. Harry was certain something was wrong. The Dursleys would never make so much noise as to attract negative attention, they had a reputation to maintain after all. Harry crept to his door and slowly pulled it open. It was open just enough he could make out voices.

"Make sure you throw powder into every room before you enter, the brat can turn invisible." A familiar voice shouted.

Harry knew that voice, the same man who had attacked Marissa's house. How did they- Oh crap! He had given them his name! Of all the stupid decisions he could of made that was the worst. Why did he have to quote that movie! This is clearly all T.V.s fault, he should've never started watching. It turned Dudley into a dumb ass as well.

Harry took a calming breathe. For all the potential problems these men could present, they were only muggles. Muggles could easily be dealt with by a skilled wizard. Harry just needed to get a skilled wizard here. Running over to Hedwigs cage, Harry's heart dropped when he saw it was empty. She was still out delivering a letter.

It still wasn't unsalvageable, Harry was probably tougher than any wizard alive. He had taken down armed muggles and stuttering coward wizards alike. Not exactly a resume that screamed invincible, but he wasn't a helpless child. Right now the muggles were probably slowly and methodically searching every room for an invisible form. That would take some time, but Privet Drive was a small house, they'd be here soon. Still that's time to prepare.

Some of the muggles might be questioning the Durselys as to his whereabouts. The same Durselys who had no idea he existed, because he drugged them... The armed muggles would then assume they were lying... Who wouldn't know someone existed, if they'd lived together for a decade? It sounds like an obvious lie.

They might even attempt more violent methods to get the Durselys to tell the truth. Harry was their nephew and himself had thought about torturing them sometimes. Some armed thug would probably be happy to, after the first time one of his relatives opened their mouths. The Durselys were about to be tortured to death, and Harry had just recently resolved to make sure they live.

Harry grit his teeth and clenched his fists. He needed to resolve this quickly or pay the consequences. His mind flashed to Jon and Marissa's prone forms. Last time he'd hesitated, this time he wouldn't show that mercy.

Harry sprinted to his trunk while making as little noise as possible. Inside he found one of his more... lethal experiments. A potion designed to keep warm on a cold day. He'd increased the ratio of magical catalyst to mundane ingredients, hoping it would make it strong enough for Scottish winter. The fires it produced were unquenchable. The grass in that part of the Dursleys yard still hasn't regrown.

Grabbing the three vials of warming solution, his invisibility cloak, and his mincing knife Harry invisibly creeped out of his room.

"First floor clear!" A visibly masked man shouted from the base of the stairs. Harry cringed at how long it had taken him to prepare. Harry took several hurried steps back away from the top of the stairs, into a nearby room.

"Proceed to the second floor." The familiar voice replied without missing a beat. Harry stepped further away into his aunt's room.

He'd have to either ambush them or sneak past them. Ambushing them might make them threaten their hostages. Once they realized he was here, they'd simply have to order him to come out or his family would die. Sneaking past might leave his back open to attacks. Although, when has the idea of being hurt ever stopped him. He wouldn't be able to kill all of the intruders without fear of instant retribution through his relatives, but he might be able to get them out once he got downstairs.

A man entered the room, wearing a black ski mask and armed with a small pistol and a bottle of baby powder, he blocked the entire door frame with his bulk. Harry was ready for this. Harry stepped closer to the man and tossed one of his empty vials onto the floor behind him. The man tensed quickly turning and raising his gun at the noise. Harry slipped past the opening the movement made, his slim twelve year old form helping.

There was a man in each of the 4 doorframes on the upper floor, and one more on the stairs. Harry was confident he didn't even need a distraction to slip past the one on the stairs. The man was texting. Texting, while his coworkers tortured people, while he was invading a home to revenge kill a supposedly invisible 12 year old. Harry guessed today was just a Wednesday for this thug. Stepping past the distracted man, Harry's cloak brushed the skin of his man however just scratched his arm and continued texting.

The lower half of the house was empty. Harry couldn't help but feel they were underestimating him. He stepped into the kitchen, to see that his relatives were cuffed to the legs of the kitchen table, barring Dudely. There was no gratuitous torture scene. His aunt was sobbing, his uncle had been gagged to prevent screaming or more likely frothing rage outbursts. Harry assumed Dudely had gone to a friends house. The man sitting across from them was indeed the one from Marrisa and Jon's house.

Harry just needed to distract or dispose of this man silently and he could get his relatives out of here. Stepping into the room, harry heard a loud cracking noise. Looking down he could see the floor was covered in crackers, of all things. Harry cursed his luck, and quickly backpedaled. The man stood and threw a bag of flour into the air which unfurled raining the powder all over the kitchen and onto his cloak.

"Sorry, Harry my boy, but the jig is up. Why don't you have a seat." He patted the chair next to him.

Harry was indecisive, the man hadn't started threatening his relatives lives yet, but that didn't mean he wouldn't kill them if Harry didn't do as he asked. Harry could very clearly see the gun in his left hand.

"Or stand, suit yourself. I was just having the most enlightening conversation with your aunt here." His aunt sobbed louder in response. "Your Uncle wasn't so helpful. He's under the impression you don't exist, funny that. She and I were talking and she had the most delightful storys about your childhood. Some of the things she described doing to you made me doubtful she was even being fully honest with me. I thought I'd have to teach her a lesson on the virtues of honesty, but then I remembered how my bullets had struck you and Alan had hit you yet you remained unmarked. At the time I had thought my bullet maybe only grazed you and Alan always had a weak arm." He stopped a moment to light a cigarette and take a drag.

Harry didn't know how she could still remember him. Maybe she has a higher tolerance to magic than either her son or husband. Perhaps due to years spent around Harry's mother. Maybe she didn't eat the eggs. He couldn't be certain, he didn't watch her eat.

"Well I wasn't exactly thinking much at the time, but after I made excuses. I tried to explain away this." He waved his hands at the powder hanging in the air on Harry's form. "I realize now that this is just the way the world works. I should make the most of it. You know an unkillable man would make a killing as a career criminal. Throw in your cloak and you'd be untouchable. Nothing to say? Come on I feel like I'm talking to myself here." His aunt made an even more hysterical sob. "No one asked you lady. If you want, I'll even let you kill her. I know you want to, after all the shit she's put you through. I could show you the ropes, on how to torture someone. It's a simple but hard balancing act, between the promise of pain and actual torture. People are hurt more with just the promise of torture, but it needs to backed up with real torture or the threat will lose all sincerity. Too much actual torture and they black out or get used to the constant lnflux of pain." Vernon tried his best to escape his bondage, at the implied torture, from the man who he presumably viewed as talking to himself.

Harry was shocked he felt tempted to accept the mans offer. Not of torture, that was petty and stupid. He was tempted by a life of crime with simply him and his cloak. He'd spent the month prior living in someone else apartment stealing food everyday. Would stealing for a living really be that different? Sure he'd have to deal with men like this to sell his illegally obtained goods, but the freedom might be worth it. No one to tell him who to live with, no responsibility, no dealing with peoples bull shit. No... magic.

No magic. He would be forced to give up his heritage, never to go to Hogwarts again. Not in a million years, not for all the gold in the world. Freedom was nice and all, but every life has its share of problems and setbacks. He'd settle for the problems he knew, asshole relatives included.

"Sure, show me how its done." Harry walked to closer to the man, slipping a vial out of his pocket. A vial he had used just earlier that day for breakfast. A potion still infused with one of his hairs.

The man pulled out a knife from his waist. Harry couldn't believe he was buying this. Harry's pulled his cloak off of himself smiling friendly like. The man smiled in return flipping his knife around and handing it to Harry handle first. Harry reached for the handle, but with his other hand threw the vial at the mans chest. It smashed apart, the clear liquid inside splashing the mans neck and face.

"Ugh, what the hell is this shit... Wait... Why the fuck am I here again?" The man spoke while trying to wipe away the liquid.

Muggles really had no tolerance for potions. Even skin contact was enough to get an adverse reaction, although Harry had used a bottle that would've lasted him the rest of the month... for three different people... Perhaps Harry had overdosed the man, but he would consider it a boon if this man would never know who he was again.

"Second floor clear!" Someone shouted from the second floor.

Harrys eye's widened, his heart pace increased. He had forgotten all about the men upstairs. This one may never be able to see Harry, but the others wouldn't share that disability. Harry doubted they'd be kind enough to let Harry close enough to dose them as well. Soon they'd be down here and apprehend him with his family. He needed to hurry and get out of here.

"Wilkins is that you? Do you know why were here?" The man shouted as he marched out of the room.

Harry raced over to his relatives. The ropes and gag tying Vernon up were easily removed with the mincing knife, but his leg was still handcuffed to the table. Harry reached into his pouch and pulled out his version of the warming solution. Just a drop of it melted through the handcuff chain like butter, then proceeded to fall to the tile and continue burning. Vernon rose confused as to why he was suddenly free, while Harry ran over to Petunia and freed her as well.

Harry could see the fire he had just accidentally lit, had already spread to the wall. Harry knew from his experience in the backyard that nothing short of time could put out the liquid once it ignited.

His relatives were already hobbling out the back door as he finished putting his potion away. Harry wouldn't put it past a man, like the one who invaded his home, to kill his relatives in the middle of the street simply because they saw him. Harry needed to delay them as long as possible for his relatives.

He stepped out of the smoke filled kitchen, into the hall, and at the base of the stairs. Harry donned his fathers cloak, ready to make his stand. To make certain his relatives survived this trial. Harry could hear muffled voices above, probably from one of the bedrooms. The voices turned to shouting as the first bits of smoke came rising up to them.

A door slammed open, It's occupants racing towards the stairs like a stampede. The man in front was a familiar face, it was the texting man. Only when they were halfway down did Harry chuck his first Vial of warming solution. It caught the man in the face liquid exploding outward, his face immediately burst into flames. He screamed the scream of the dying and attempted to beat the flames out. A foolish endeavour, Harry knew because he'd tried the same. The liquid splashed mostly onto the walls and ceiling, alighting their only escape route

The man behind him raised his gun firing at the base of the stairs. Several bullets hit Harry as he pulled away, back into the kitchen. They were of such lower calibre, compared to the first time he'd been shot, that his body barely even jerked. He was just lucky none of the bullets hit the other two vials of warming solution, though.

"That'll teach you not to text, while lives are being destroyed!" Harry shouted from the smoky kitchen.

He decided his relatives were probably safe by now. Harry stepped back into the hallway, just behind the burning corpse that had rolled down the stairs and threw the rest of his vials onto the stairs.

He ran out the front door, and saw most of the neighborhood was watching the smoking house. Harry could hear sirens in the distance signaling approaching fire trucks. Harry had never felt more proud, he had saved lives.

A loud crack echoed throughout the neighborhood. Harry raised his mincing knife for whatever else today threw at him. Dumbledore appeared in front of Privet drive, his very countenance screaming danger. Harry lowered his knife in response to the friendly arrival.

Taking off his cloak, Harry walked up to Dumbelore and spoke. "I can explain, no one got hurt. I saved their lives, just like you said I should."

Dumbledore's eyes softened when they found Harry's unharmed form. His wand was still out but he lowered it. Then a burning man jumped out of the second story window.

Dumbledores eyes widened at the sight. Dumbledore brought his wand back up spun it around his head three times. All the fire was sucked out of the burning building, quickly flowing into a ball of flames above Dumbledores head. Dumbledore twisted his wrist and the ball disappeared with a pop.

Harry was astonished at the feat of magic. Nothing he had tried could put out those flames, and here Dumbledore could put out a whole building full of them with barely any movement.

"Harry when I asked, if you would see your childhood home burned to the ground. It wasn't a suggestion..." Dumbledore said while staring at the twitching body of the previously burning window jumper.

~(-)~

AN:

As a thank you to Srathor for leading me to some pretty kick ass writing advice, I wrote this up. I just couldn't wait to enact some of what I'd learned.

One of my friends said I made Harry too kill happy. I tried to make it gradual, but maybe should've focused on him trying to emphasize more. From Quirrels death, to the knifed down thug, to burning people alive. Harry is incapable of being hurt, he doesn't emphasize with other peoples pain. Like Gaara from Naruto, expect without the internal voices that make him revel in death.

Fun fact: The man who burned alive on the stairs probably went into shock as his face melted, so I doubt he conscious for long, and even if he was the fire was burning the oxygen in front of his face. He would have suffocated eventually... probably.

To those of you who say its too early to decide pairings. I need time to set this up. Romance is something to be built up, its an emotional connection beyond lust.

To the one of my three reviewers who asked why the killing curse isn't considered 'The Darkest of Magics'. I think its labeled an unforgivable for moral reasons and less magical ones. In canon Harry is the only Horcrux to be destroyed to a killing curse, which leads me to believe he wasn't one. In fanon everyone and their mother can cast it. Apparently all you need is some hate. I was referencing Fiend fire in the synopsis


	3. The Hidden Truth

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to the Dark Lady herself. We just borrow the series for the ship. For a further list of things I've borrowed and haven't returned consult my roommate.

~(-)~

The office was a work of art and madness. It brought to life everything you'd expect to find in a Wizards tower. It was filled with objects of probable untold power. A globe with a miniature Hogwarts castle, looking closely showed tiny shadowy figures moving past it's windows. A hand mirror which showed not a reflection, but the view of sunken ship deep beneath murky waters. An abacus was sitting in the corner idly moving itself, probably formulating equations of a complex nature.

Being forced to sit still, waiting for the shoe to drop, was a punishment in itself. Harry wondered if that's why Dumbledore was making him wait so long. Dumbledore knew he would sit here imagining more vivid and wild punishments, and that's why he was taking so long. Well he wouldn't get the satisfaction. Harry knew his game, and would be as calm as the summer breeze.

Breathing in and out in a near meditative nature, Harry Potter looked the very image of calm. In fact looking at his calm countenance you wouldn't even know he was actually brimming with smug pride at having gotten on over on the legendary headmaster.

An old man walked into the room. His flamboyantly purple robes covered in soot, his brow covered in sweat.

"Do you know how many people I had to bribe to cover this up? Was there any reason you had to be so vicious? Could you not simply have knocked those men out or better yet fled once your relatives were safe? Self defence is one thing. To struggle for your life and that of your loved ones is admirable. It's an entirely other thing to begin burning men alive. Well what have you to say for yourself?" He rose a grey eyebrow.

Harry didn't like that tone, as if Harry had caused this. He didn't tell those men to come, didn't force them to threaten torture or to kill. Harry had responded in kind. Mercy is for those in a position of power, not untrained wizards. Was Dumbledore so powerful, he couldn't understand why Harry was forced to use every means at his disposal.

"I did what I had to see my relatives safe. Isn't that the exact reason you sent me there in the first place?" Harry was certain he was in the right. It wasn't like what he did was illegal, and what would Dumbledore do expel him? Over saving lives?

"Actually what you did is indeed illegal. Look up muggle baiting. And it is within the purview of my duties to expel you from this institution, if I feel you are a danger to the student body. It is entirely within my discretion. Now, are you a danger, Harry?" Dumbledore spoke harshly.

Harrys eyes widened. He didn't say those thoughts aloud... How did Dumbledore know... The elf! This is just like Dobby. Dumbledore was reading his mind! The interrogation began the moment Dumbledore entered the room, and now Dumbledore knew all his secrets, even his freakish one.

"Forgive my slip Harry, but I'll ask you to keep this between us. Ever since I was a boy, I was a genius amongst my peers. I couldn't understand or relate to them, nor they me. I simply, have trouble interacting with other people. As for every problem life throws at us, magic has a solution." Dumbledore stared at his lap in shame, as if he'd just conveyed his most dirty secret and was unwilling to go on talking. "You needn't worry about me learning your most intimate secrets. I can only see and feel whats currently on your mind, and really you think I'd be so petty as to let you wait for punishment? Trust me, when you're being punished, you'll know it. I can, of course, influence your thoughts to some extent, direct them if you will, but I'd never stoop so low."

That certainly made Harry feel slightly better, but as soon as he said 'don't think of your intimate' thoughts, they popped into his brain. Like someone who says don't think of a pink elephant.

 _A scene of Marissa coming home after an extremely hot day played in Harrys mind. Her clothes we're soaked in sweat, making the thin fabric almost transparent. She closed and locked her door, entirely unaware of Harry studying under his invisibility cloak in the corner. She slowly took her shirt off, her tan skin glowing in the afternoon sun. She must've forgotten to wear a bra that day, because her chest was entirely bare. Harry had never seen Areolas puffed out like that. Her nipples were decidedly girly, with their bright pink color. She threw her wet top the floor and kicked it away. Soon she was standing in her room solely in her jean shorts. Turning to face her dresser back exposing Harry, She had Harry's undivided attention. She bent forward to take her shorts off too, Harrys eyes widened at the lack of_ -Stop Stop! STOP! Dumbledore doesn't need to see any of this.

Harrys face was beat red. He hoped Dumbledore hadn't seen any of that. If he had he wasn't saying anything, but the smirk on his face and the twinkle in his eyes spoke differently.

Was Dumbledore sitting in on peoples thoughts any worse than the confidence brew, or what Harry had been doing to his relatives all summer? Harry couldn't exactly judge Dumbledore's actions. He'd just have to accept that as one of those not so great magical things.

"Alright your forgiven, but only because you bribed people for me. You're still not allowed to talk about whatever you see in my head though. Now explain to me, how was what I did illegal?" Harry asked warily.

"It's not exactly Illegal. More of a grey area. Some would argue that the violence you inflicted was excessive beyond self defence. A wizard is not allowed to indiscriminately use magic on muggles. Now there is a clause for self defence. Your extreme methods and the fact that you returned when eye witness testimony stated you could have left with your aunt and uncle, makes a case for Muggle baiting. A crime that would see an adult wizard sent Azkaban, that is the wizarding prison. This doubt of your innocence was exacerbated, by the enemies you seem to have in the Ministry. I assume many of Voldemorts more hidden followers hold high ranking positions there. Thus I was forced to bribe certain Auror's to dispose of the evidence, before your enemies could make a court case out of it. One that would no doubt have trumped up charges and the maximum sentence..." Dumbledore dramatically stated.

"That's horrible! I assume you know they would've done this by reading their minds?" Dumbledore nodded cautiously. "Then you bribed some wizard police to counter the other corrupt wizard politician?" Harry was furious.

"That about sums it up..." Dumbledore spoke soothingly, no doubt aware of Harry's current feelings with his invasive telepathy.

"So the whole Wizarding world is corrupt, and the only way you could think of fighting it was with more corruption!?" Harry was pissed. He was only 12 and already had a thousand enemies who he didn't even know the identity's of. All of them hanging off in the peripheral, waiting for just a small sign of weakness to come out the woodworks and strike. All for something he didn't really even do...

"Harry this actually happens in all community's small enough. I actually wrote a thesis on the subject in my youth. You tend to get people in positions of power who are trusted to enforce the rules indiscriminately, only they know all the people who they have to enforce the rules on personally. Suddenly they're accepting small favors to overlook small infractions, then they're taking small bags of gold from their drinking buddy to overlook larger laws. It snowballs into another corrupt Auror. Add in millennia old grudges, Small familys that have maintained power since the fall of Rome, and you have a picture of the modern wizarding world. It's not pretty, but changing it would take more power than any one man could accumulate in a lifetime, and even then it would devolve again in a few generations due to our low population." Dumbledore took a sip out of a canteen that suddenly appeared on his desk.

Harry wasn't certain he liked living with the thought, that any man could just bribe the law to his side. It made society feel less civilized, more wild and untamed. Any day now, an enemy he had no clue he had, could frame him for a crime and bribe the wizard overseeing the trial. He wouldn't stand a chance. He was slightly wealthy, not bribe everyone and their dog wealthy.

"You needn't worry Harry. You may only have access to your trust fund, but I took the liberty of bribing all the nessasary names. Your parents enemies shouldn't give you any trouble, for some time yet." Dumbledore spoke cheerily.

Harry thought it was creepy how he knew what he was thinking, and now Dumbledore knew Harry thought it was creepy. Judging by the frown on his face Dumbledore seemed upset at that. Harry guessed Dumbledore just wanted to be liked and seeming omnipotent was vital enough to his self image that he had to do it.

"Thanks for the forethought, but all of this is a bit too much. I think I need to lie down." The stress of having 100s of unknown faces plotting your demise, was a bit much. Worse still they wouldn't even just attempt to kill him, something he was skilled at surviving, they would see him imprisoned.

"Of course Harry. I want you to know, I'm proud of you for doing what was right. Even if your methods need some work. I'll have a school elf grab your yearly supply's, you can stay at the school for the next few days until the term starts. Then you have to take a floo to the Hogwarts express, it is tradition after all. Before you go however, I must once again ask. Is there anything you want to tell me anything at all?" Dumbledore asked while maintaining eye contact.

As the words rang in his ears for the third time, as he noticed the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes, Harry realized what this was. This was Dumbledores way of getting him to think about something he doesn't want Dumbledore to know. A way Dumbledore could find anything Harry was hiding from him. That kind of hurt, despite the rocky road their relationship had been built on. Harry was hurt Dumbledore didn't trust him.

Dumbledores face immediately went slack. "That isn't the case at all, Harry! I've lived through two wars... six assassination attempts... One by a man I thought of as a best friend. I picked up habits that kept me safe. It's become something of a tick, I didn't mean anything by it... I'm sorry." Dumbledore did seem apologetic too, from what Harry could tell. He wasn't a mind reader though.

"Oh... well there is something I feel you should know. An elf named Dobby told me I shouldn't return to Hogwarts... something about a great evil... and a journal that Lucious Malfoy wants to use to hurt you." Harry asked looking to see if Dumbledore could make any sense of that.

"Malfoy Senior has long been a political rival of mine. He's a very dangerous man, and not just in a political sense. I suggest you avoid him, he was one his. A journal though... You do realize this is a school, yes? Never the less, I shall endeavour to keep an eye out for any ominous books. If that is all, I wish you a good night." Dumbledore dismissed him.

Harry sagged as he left that meeting. He didn't receive any punishment, but it felt like he was condemned to years of detention. His mind was reeling from the way the world works. Its not as pretty as he once thought it. Yet, like a moth to the flame he continues forward. Hogwarts awaits.

~(-)~

AN:

I'll try and keep my chapters longer than this, but someone asked me why I write fanfiction. They needed a response, and I needed to get this shitty scene out of they way so i could jump into Hogwarts plot. Prepare yourselves Necromancer!Draco wont be taking shit from anyone this year. I actually didn't revise or edit this at all... because I'm clearly big enough to now get a beta. *Cough* Hint, *Cough* Hint.

AN: go on the bottom always. So they can be easily skipped. Fixed it for you guys.

I don't write for fun. I don't write to release some pent up frustration. I don't write to see my story's come to life. I don't write to express myself, there's barely any of me in the work. I most certainly don't write because I can't find the stories I want.

No there's only one singular reason why I write. One true driving factor to my reasoning. It keeps me up at night wondering where it came from. How it must have slipped into my consciousness at some point. I didn't even realize it was what was what was driving me to spend hours typing away, reading, then revising. It scared me, when I asked the question and whittled my reasoning down to the only conclusion I can draw.

I want to impress you people. I want you to read my work eager for more. I want you to smile at how I implemented my clever plot ideas. I want people, who've I spent years following and reading religiously, to see my work and gain a sense of pride at what they inspired. I want my work to be a force of nature that drives thousands of others to walk this same path I'm walking. Inspired the same way I was once.

I know what your thinking. TediousExploit, you say, Why would you want to impress these people? A bigger group of Trolls could not be found. They make 4chan look like a group of whiny bitches, with their vicious and cruel torture of innocent fictional characters. I doubt they've seen sunlight since 96. They probably don't bathe, too busy whittling away whats left of their mediocre lives in their moms basement.

Well in response to that, faithful viewer, I have to say... Fuck you! I'm one of those asshole degenerates you were just describing. Just for this I'm self inserting your sorry ass into a Twilight fanfiction. I hope you enjoy being Bella, because I'm going to go all AU on your ass. Foreknowledge? What Foreknowledge, I gave you amnesia you twit. Now if you'll excuse me, your poor wife needs comfort. Her husband was recently reborn as an incredibly boring teenage girl.


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